


Whatever You Call It, I Need It Out of My Head

by Papprika



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-12-16 23:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21044762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papprika/pseuds/Papprika
Summary: ***Spoilers for Blue Lions Route***After reclaiming Fhirdiad, Sylvain just wants to enjoy a night of drinking, dancing and celebrating. Unfortunately, Felix doesn't quite share the sentiment, but that's nothing a little alcohol can't fix! Sylvain's own inebriation, however, might just lead him to an unwanted awakening...Set after Chapter 18 of the Blue Lions/Azure Moon Route. It's basically Sylvain's Gay Awakening™ with a side of Felix Hurt/Comfort and just making peace with his grief in general. And probably some really tropey garbage mixed in along the way!





	1. Reticent

It was their first night home after taking back Fhirdiad. Reclaiming the capital, it was as if an enormous weight had been lifted off everyone’s shoulders. A celebration was in order, and by the evening, the entire city was bathed in dancing and merriment. The now-empty husk of the castle, formerly occupied by Cornelia and her army, was filled with an echoing chorale of music and laughter. The main hall was decorated with glittering lanterns and blooms of violet and lavender, lined with table after table of decadent food. It was the townspeople’s way of showing their gratitude not only for their freedom, but for the return of their king. Although Dimitri still had a ways to go before their faith in him would be fully restored, his newfound demeanor gave both his people and his army hope. Sylvain glanced over to His Majesty, who was engaged in some lighthearted banter with one of the generals. Though he could see Dimitri’s brow furrowed with awkwardness, it was nice to observe their leader with a smile on his face again after all these years.

Swirling the stemmed glass in his hand, Sylvain snapped back to focus. After all, a night like this was the perfect time for him to become immersed in his element. They were just encroaching on the Garland Moon, meaning the evening air was thick with pollen and relatively warm, at least for Faerghus. It was the time when summer brides start planning their weddings, when young lovers elope beneath the late-setting sun.

In other words, it was the time when Sylvain’s charm was at its most powerful. For every girl who’d found her Mr. Right, there were a dozen other girls that were left without a partner – and the red-haired lancer had enough to go around.

Tipping his head back, Sylvain downed the remainder of his drink. He placed the glass down on a nearby table, and sauntered towards the first cluster of women in the hall. 

“Well, well. The Goddess must be having a hard time today, with so many of her angels taking a night off.” His voice was as thick and sweet as molasses, but the desire didn’t carry all the way up to his eyes.

“Aren’t you a charmer.” One of the ladies replied sarcastically. “Rather brazen of you to say something so blasphemous, just for the sake of hitting on us.”

“I assure you I was going for corny, not offensive!” He chuckled. “But I meant what I said; you have an aura about you that radiates pure divinity.”

Of course, he didn’t mean what he said at all. He never did, when he was talking like this. For Sylvain, flirting had become like more of a bad habit than anything – he didn’t really understand what compelled him to do it. Growing up surrounded by crest-bearing nobles, he knew that love wasn’t a necessary reason for two people to get married. His own crest marked him as someone whose hand was for power, clout, or status alone. No matter how many times he’d been in a relationship, that thought always lingered in the back of his mind.

It was easier to chase the idea of love, rather than risk something deeper disguised as it.

After accompanying his new lady-friends to the drinks table, Sylvain downed a few more glasses of wine. The numbing warmth pooled in his belly, making it easier for him to smile and laugh at the right parts of the conversation – after all, alcohol did a great job at masking the dullness of his gaze. He eventually parted ways with them, though a petite blonde lightly stroked his chest on her way past, whispering that she looked forward to seeing him later tonight in her chambers. Sylvain nodded with a smirk, though he had no intention of actually following through with the plan.

Yet another glass of liquor in his hands, Sylvain made his way towards the back of the hall. However, before he could make it there, he was intercepted by a hard slap to the back of his head.

“Ow! What the hell was that fo– oh…! Hey, Ingrid!”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me! You know exactly what that was for!” Ingrid’s mouth was scrunched into a tight frown, her hand still raised as if she were ready for a follow-up slap. “You should consider yourself lucky I didn’t interrupt your little charade earlier. Can’t you just enjoy one night of celebrating, _ without _ hitting on every woman misfortunate enough to cross paths with you?”

“Geez, ouch! At least I _ am _celebrating. You sound like you’re wound up tight enough to burst a blood vessel.”

“If I do, it’ll be no thanks to you,” Ingrid punctuated the sentence with a sharp prod to Sylvain’s chest. “But...that aside, tonight has actually been a welcome reprieve. It’s been a long while since things have felt this hopeful again.”

Sylvain hummed in agreement. “Long time since Dimitri’s been like this, too – probably not since we were kids.”

“Indeed, it’s good to see pieces of his old self finally returning. Although…”

“What, you’re still worried he’ll slip back to his boar-ish ways?”

“No, not that. You sound like Felix.” Ingrid bit her lip. “Actually...it’s him that I’m worried about. He’s struggled enough with Glenn, but now that Rodrigue is…”

It was clear that Rodrigue was at least in part to thank for Dimitri’s shift in perspective. But at the cost of his life, it was a high toll to pay. Despite the festivities, his absence hung heavily in the back of everyone’s minds.

“Hey, now. Felix is a tough guy, probably even tougher than His Highness. He probably just needs a bit of brooding space, and he’ll be fine.”

“Tch! You’re so insensitive.”

Sylvain threw up his arms incredulously. “Well if you’re so worried, why do you ask him yourself!”  
  
“You think I haven’t already? You know what Felix is like – trying to elicit a genuine response from him is like drawing blood from a stone.”

“Maybe he really just isn’t that affected,” Sylvain shrugged. “It’s not like he got along with his father that well. Perhaps he really _ doesn’t _ care that he’s gone.”

“His relationship with his father wasn’t the same as yours and Miklan’s, Sylvain! I know that’s what you’re comparing it to in your head,” Ingrid muttered, letting out a long sigh. “Rodrigue didn’t try to kill Felix. He _ loved _him. And even though Felix held some anger towards his father over Glenn’s death...I think deep down, he loved him too.”

“Alright, I get it already,” Sylvain waved his hand in relent. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll go talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Ingrid smiled softly, before suddenly switching to a sharp scowl. “And no more skirt-chasing for tonight, okay?”

“Ugh, _ fine _ – if only to keep those brows of yours unfurrowed for the rest of the night. Wrinkles just don’t suit a beautiful woman like you, y’know?” With a playful smirk still plastered on his face, Sylvain scurried away before Ingrid could throttle him for that last remark.

Keeping true to his word, he scoured the hall for Felix. However, after circling the room several times, he was starting to suspect the Fraldarian had already made his escape. Grabbing a second glass of wine as a peace offering (but not before drinking and replacing his own), Sylvain exited the main hall and headed straight for the castle’s training grounds.

Leaving the din of the party, it was rather tranquil walking through the vacant castle grounds. He had so many memories of him, Dimitri, Ingrid and Felix playing here together as children – every winding corridor, oaken door and cobblestone path was a memory of happier times. Sylvain couldn’t help but feel a bittersweet sense of nostalgia for it all, knowing that even after the war was over, things could never truly go back to how they were. Dimitri would have a kingdom to lead. Ingrid was expected to marry, though he suspected she instead planned to serve as a knight under the King. And he and Felix would return to their respective homelands, taking up their roles as Margrave and Duke. After Miklan’s death, his father had been pressuring him for many years now to assume his position as head of House Gautier – the war was about his last excuse left to avoid that responsibility. Felix, on the other hand, was the last living member of the Fraldarius bloodline, so it was a given that the same would be expected of him. It would be a long while before they could all be together again like this – like when they were children. Though the circumstances were far less pleasant, the time they shared now was sacred. It was these few precious nights, where the war was only a distant thought in the background, that he wanted to cherish the most.

In the distance, Sylvain could make out the faint flicker of torchlight. “So predictable,” he sneered, listening to the low grunts of Felix’s voice as he drew closer to their source.

Peering through the cracked doorway, he saw the Fraldarian striking a training dummy with a quick flurry of thrusts. Each vital area of the body was pricked with pin-point accuracy, in a way that sent a slight chill down Sylvain’s spine.

“If you want a better view, you’re welcome to fill in for the dummy.” Felix quipped, without turning around.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m good,” Sylvain chuckled nervously, the two glasses in his hands clinking together as he pushed his way through the heavy door.

Felix span on his heel, scanning the redhead up and down with his usual pissed-off glare.

“What, like what you see? I don’t mind if you want to paint a portrait,” Sylvain goaded, sauntering closer to the other man. He held out the liquor invitingly, but it was swatted away by Felix’s empty hand.

“You reek of ale,” he pinched his nose. “...and desperation. Run out of women to harass?”

“Not at all,” Sylvain took a small sip of the rejected beverage. “I just enjoy harassing you more.”

A silver blur swung at Sylvain’s head, giving him only a second to dodge it.

“Hey, I was _ joking _! No need to take my head off for it!”

Felix clicked his tongue, the sword in his hand back against his side. “If all you came here to do was bother me, then you’d best not let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Come on, it’s not like that! I couldn’t find you anywhere in the main hall, so I came looking for you.”

“You won’t drag me back in there – these celebrations are such a tremendous waste of my time.” Felix turned back to the training dummy, poising his sword to its chest.

“I didn’t come here to do that either,” Sylvain huffed. “I really just wanted to chat with you.”

“Well I have nothing to say.” A swish of metal punctuated the statement.

Of course Felix was in a difficult mood – what else was new. Sylvain rolled his eyes, heading towards the corner of the room to take a seat. He placed the drinks on a small wooden table, noticing it was already cluttered with countless bottles of wine. Looking at some of the labels, he recognised them as popular brands from the Empire. Pulling up a small stool to sit on, Sylvain picked up one of the larger bottles, feeling the heft of liquid still inside. He sniffed at it, alarmed by the pungent tartness that assaulted his nostrils. 

The Gautian placed the bottle back down, glancing back towards Felix. His slashes were unrelenting, but Sylvain figured he’d at least attempt to interrupt. “Hey...what’s with half the wine cellar set up over here, anyway?"

Felix thrust his sword a good few times, pointedly ignoring the question.

“Never took you to be much of a drinker, but I’m impressed!”

“You _ know _ I’m not!” Felix grunted, flinging his arm back so hard that his sword fell free, skittering across the stone floor. 

Neither man dared to move an inch, and an awkward silence hung over the room for what felt like an eternity.

“...The hell if I know why there’s so much alcohol in here,” Felix finally broke, slowly strolling to retrieve his weapon. “I’d say Cornelia’s army probably spent more time drinking than actually training – such boorish behaviour would also explain a lot about the sorry state of their military force.” 

“You say that, but it wasn’t like reclaiming Fhirdiad was a walk in the park,” Sylvain sighed. “We lost...many good soldiers on the battlefield today.”

“And yet the weaker army still ultimately fell, didn’t it?” Felix replied coldly. “At the end of the day, the strong live, and the weak perish. That’s all war is.”

Sylvain was taken aback by the apathetic response. _ Your dad was one of those soldiers, idiot _. But maybe what he said to Ingrid was right after all – perhaps Felix really wasn’t too fazed about Rodrigue’s passing. 

On one hand, Sylvain’s relationship with his own deceased brother made it easy for him to sympathise with indifference. But on the other hand...he knew Rodrigue, too. He remembered visiting House Fraldarius many times as a child, even learning how to wield a lance for the first time there. Felix of course was much more interested in swords, because he looked up to Glenn more than anyone else. And with Dimitri’s recent erraticism, it was Rodrigue that had helped hold the Blue Lions together. He believed in the King’s return...and was even willing to die for it.

Felix picked up his sword, dragging it along the floor slowly. With a flick of his wrist, he buried the blade deep into the neck of the battered dummy. He repeated the action several more times, hacking with a ferocity not present before.

Perhaps Felix wasn’t quite as detached as he’d made out to be, Sylvain wondered.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Sylvain strolled over to the wall, procuring a sword of his own from the many mounted weapons there.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Felix snipped.

“What does it look like I’m doing? You wanna train, let’s train.” He raised the blade, pointing the tip directly at the Fraldarian. “But! It’s a special night – I say we make it more interesting!”

“Define ‘interesting’,” Felix quirked an eyebrow warily. “It had better not be something stupid.”

Sylvain walked back towards the table in the corner, using his sword to lightly tap against one of the glass bottles. “Every round you lose, you take a drink.”

“That’s something stupid,” Felix deadpanned. “I’m not interested.”

“What, worried a little bit of alcohol is gonna mess up your technique?”

“_ Huh _?”

Sylvain smirked – Felix really was predictable. “Well you know, I’m already starting on a few drinks tonight, so it’s only fair you at least have something to bring you down to my level. But if you really think you need that sort of a handicap…”

“Give me that,” Felix grunted, stomping past Sylvain and snatching one of the glasses he’d brought over from the main hall. Without hesitation, he tipped his head back and gulped the wine down in a single motion, barely letting the flavour hit his tongue. He then reached for the second glass, repeating the action.

Felix stormed back over to the centre of the room, tapping his foot impatiently. “...Well? Are you a coward, or are we doing this?”

With a quiet scoff, Sylvain moved into duelling position. “Of course – I’m always a man of my word.”

“Hmph, do you tell that lie to your girlfriends too?”

At that taunting remark, Sylvain lunged forward confidently, arching his sword with an overarm swing. Felix parried the attack with minimal effort, although the redhead was happy to see the alcohol was already taking some effect. Felix never drank, so he was a complete lightweight – the two shots from earlier had already left him with a slight sway to his step.

The duel continued for some time, the loud clashing of metal echoing through the training grounds. Even though the lance was his weapon of choice, Sylvain was still equally confident in his swordsmanship. Of course, Felix truly was unparalleled in skill – what he was really relying on was for the liquor to incapacitate him. Maybe if he could keep him drinking some more, he’d even be able to get the Fraldarian to open up a little.

“Yield!” Sylvain groaned, holding his hands up in defeat.

Felix removed the blade from the Gautian’s neck, strolling over to the table of wine bottles. “Your rules, remember?” He said, tossing one in Sylvain’s direction.

He managed to catch it, just barely, and whined in exasperation. “Yeah, yeah.” He tipped the bottle against his lips, swallowing quickly to avoid the acrid tang of the spoiled liquor. Getting himself drunk was the exact opposite of Sylvain’s plan. “Don’t think you’ll best me twice in a row!”

Back on his feet, Sylvain was ready for their next round. He could tell that Felix was a little tipsy, but it wasn’t enough to hamper his technique with a sword just yet. If he just got another drink or two into the man, Sylvain was sure he’d be able to handle what followed. Perhaps he’d just need to play a little dirty to get there first.

With a sharp kick, Sylvain hooked the bottle of wine that he’d drank from earlier, launching it off the ground and spraying Felix with liquid.

“What the hell!” He growled, staggering backwards. He brought his free hand up to his face, using his sleeve to rub away the blinding drink.

Seizing the opening, Sylvain swiftly slid his leg under Felix’s, sending the man tumbling to the floor with a loud thud. Before he could recover, Sylvain pointed his blade against Felix’s neck. “Do you yield?”

“Ugh...cheap tricks don’t work on me twice, you know,” Felix grumbled, staring daggers into the redhead. “...Fine, I yield.”

“Well, there aren't any rules about ‘cheap tricks’ in a real battle,” Sylvain laughed, pulling his sword away and reaching for another bottle of wine. “Better they don’t work on you at all, right?”

Propping himself up on his elbows, Felix snatched the drink from Sylvain’s hands with a scowl. He sniffed at the substance, screwing up his nose tightly at the sharp odour. “This smells much worse than the wine from the main hall. I don’t want to drink this.”

“It’s not like bacteria can grow in something with such a high alcohol content; you’ll be _ fine _,” Sylvain stuck out his blade, tapping it lightly against the green glass. “Besides, fair’s fair – if I have to drink spoiled wine, so do you.”

“This is why I hate your stupid bets,” Felix mumbled under his breath, holding his lips to the rim of the bottle. He hesitated for a moment, before tilting his neck and knocking back a good three mouthfuls of liquor. As he finally pulled his mouth away, Felix hissed at the lingering bitterness on his tongue.

Sylvain was sure that Felix had quite deliberately taken a bigger swig than himself, probably as some petty form of one-upmanship. Little did he know, he was playing right into the redhead’s hands. “Well, that’s one win each. You ready for the tiebreaker?”

“That depends – are you ready to drink more of that putrid swill?” Felix said cockily, pushing himself up on his feet again. Unfortunately for him, the alcohol was finally starting to take a toll on his body. The Fraldarian’s sword hand appeared to be wobbling from side to side, and his steps seemed a little less steady than before.

Sylvain would feel more confident seeing this, were it not that he’d begun their duels with a head start – he could feel his own lightheadedness starting to really hamper his movements.

The two knights clashed swords yet again, their swings and slashes a lot more sluggish than before. Their night had quickly become a back of forth of swordplay and drinking, with neither man giving the other much headway. For every victory Felix managed, Sylvain was right there to match his score, and push a little more liquor past his lips. Of course, his plan wasn’t without his own personal setbacks – Sylvain swore he could actually _ feel _ his liver churning, in a feeble attempt to break down the ludicrous amount of alcohol in his system.

“What’s wrong...? You’re looking a bit...a bit loose on your feet there, Sylvain,” Felix slurred, his eyes widening and narrowing as if trying to force the redhead into focus. Nevertheless, he was still as arrogant as ever, waving his sword around tauntingly.

“That’s pretty rich, coming from the guy who could barely stand up just a minute ago!” Sylvain staggered forward, slicing through the air with minimal direction. In the back of his mind, he wondered if they were really sober enough to be wielding weapons right now.

“Too slow!” Felix declared, ducking away from the oncoming attack. Or at least, he certainly tried to. Felix’s head barely cleared the haphazard swing, the elastic in his hair snapping clean through. His dark blue locks sprang free, fluttering in every direction before draping themselves messily over his face.

“You’re the one who’s too slow!” Sylvain gasped with concern. “...I think we need to stop. We’re way too drunk for this to be safe anymore.”

Felix clicked his tongue. “Coward.” He tossed his blade carelessly off to one side, before flopping down onto his back. His free hair tangled around him, picking up pieces of dirt and hay that were scattered on the ground.

Sylvain joined him, dropping his own weapon and squatting down against the cold stone. 

The two of them sat there silently for a while, their bodies swaying with inebriety. Sylvain glanced over at Felix, whose eyes had slid closed – it was unclear whether or not he’d passed out. _ Great _ , Sylvain thought to himself; _ I was supposed to get Felix talking, and all I did was get him shit-faced instead _. But he did at least figure he’d managed to keep the Fraldarian’s mind off things, one way or another.

“...So, why did you come looking for me tonight?” Felix mumbled, so quietly that Sylvain thought maybe he’d imagined it. 

“...”

“I said, _ why _ did you come looking for me tonight?”

“Huh?” The redhead perked up, rubbing a hand down his face absently. “Oh...you know. I guess I’d had enough of talking to women for the night, and wondered what you were up to.”

“Seriously? That has to be the worst lie you’ve ever come up with.” Brown eyes scanned over Sylvain suspiciously. “...Ingrid made you do it, didn’t she?”

“W–well, I wouldn’t say _ made _ me!” He stammered. “...But yeah. She, uh. Asked me to check in on you. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t think it was a good idea.”   
  
“Why would either of you need to check on me?” Felix glowered, struggling to prop himself upright.

“Geez, you’re really gonna make me say it?” Sylvain paused expectantly, but Felix’s expression failed to relent. Squirming under the other man’s glare, as out-of-focus as it was, he finally caved. “Your _ father _, Felix.”

Felix stared blankly for a long moment. “...Oh. That.” He finally said. “That’s a stupid reason for the both of you to worry – it doesn’t really make a difference to me that he’s gone.”

“I mean...if that’s really the case, then that’s fine,” Sylvain replied cautiously. “But you’re not exactly the type of guy to wear his heart on his sleeve.”

“Or maybe you’re just trying to read too deeply into feelings that aren’t there.”

“Heh, maybe,” Sylvain scoffed. “But I just mean...look; I know you and your father have been on some pretty rough terms ever since Glenn died. Before that though, the two of you were fairly close. It’s not like me and Miklan; you still have fond memories together. So, you know...I wouldn’t blame you if you were feeling upset abou–”

“I’m not upset!” Felix yelled, jerking his body forward. “You wanna know what really am? I’m angry, Sylvain. Fucking _ livid _!”

The redhead was taken aback by the outburst. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol speaking, or if he’d really managed to push his friend too far this time.

“Regardless of all the stupid shit my father did – which, by the way, I _ don’t _ intend to forget about just because he’s dead – nobody has the right to take him from me! Not when I still had things to prove to him!” Felix began listing on his fingers. “Glenn died for _ nothing _ , my father died for _ nothing _, and now I’m the one left picking up the pieces of House Fraldarius!” Felix’s shoulders began to shake, and Sylvain couldn’t quite tell if it was with rage or sorrow. “You know what the worst part is? I can’t even kill those that murdered my family. Cornelia and that maiden are already dead – slain by the hands of the professor and the boar himself. I’m denied even the opportunity to avenge them!”

“I…” Sylvain gulped, choosing his words carefully amongst the tension. “I thought you didn’t believe in avenging the dead. That the dead won’t acknowledge your loyalty.”

“That’s because this isn’t about servicing the dead. This is about _ me _.” Felix stumbled to his feet, his whole body still swaying drunkenly. “I wanted to kill them for myself; to prove that I could.” He wobbled over to the side of the room, picking up the sword he’d discarded there earlier.

“What are you doing? I don’t think it’s a good idea for either of us to–”

“Get up.”

“Huh?” Sylvain didn’t like where this was going.  
  
“Get up. I want you to pretend you’re that maiden. The one that murdered my father.”

“What? I’m not gonna fight you like this, Felix! Both your strength and your judgement are clouded by wine.”

Felix’s eyes widened angrily. He bent over, picking up one of the many empty bottles scattered about. “Shut up!” He barked. “Stand up on your feet and _ fight me _!” Felix hurled the bottle at Sylvain, missing his target and sending shards of glass flying as it shattered against the wall.

Sylvain leapt up in alarm. “You’re crazy!” He stumbled backwards, circling the room to try and escape the Fraldarian’s approach.

“What do you know about me?!” Felix waved his sword about carelessly, pacing after the redhead. “You’ll never know what it’s like to live in a shadow you can never surpass. After all, you were the one that killed Miklan!”

“You’re right! I did kill him!” Sylvain panted. “And even though we despised each other, it didn’t feel any more satisfied once he was dead! You know what I felt?” Stopping in his tracks, the Gautian flung his arms to his sides. “Contempt! Nothing but contempt! I’d spent so much time fearing my brother after the things he tried to do to me, and then even more time thinking I had to prove myself – prove that I was more deserving of the family crest he wanted _ so _ badly. And then he died, and guess what? I was still afraid of my brother! I was still just as undeserving of my title as I was before! I was so convinced that ending his life would finally prove the worth of my own, but it _ didn’t _!”

“Oh please, spare me your preaching!” Felix gritted his teeth, clenching his sword a little tighter. “Nobody in House Gautier has ever questioned if you were more deserving of your crest than Miklan. They’ve never accused you of being the inferior brother. And they’ve never wished aloud that he lived instead of you!” Blinded by his emotions, Felix charged at Sylvain, his blade thrust high into the air.

Sylvain struggled to meet his hands, grasping the handle of the sword before it could be swung. He was lucky that liquor had weakened the swordsman, but the rawness of Rodrigue’s death was clearly overwhelming his rationality. He wrestled with Felix’s fingers, prying apart his grip enough to send the weapon clattering to the floor. 

“That’s enough!” He yelled, breathing heavily with exhaustion. “Felix, that’s...enough.” A cold silence followed, though the redhead didn’t release his hold. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, finally locking eyes with the Fraldarian. However, his expression was not what Sylvain had been expecting.

Felix’s eyes were startlingly bloodshot. His loose hair concealed most of his face, but Sylvain could see the look behind it – it was pained, almost mournful. It was as though his boiling rage had all been snuffed out with a single breath, and the only thing that remained was the deep anguish Felix had been holding back. Not just from today, with the death of his father. He’d been stifling his feelings for nine whole years – when the Tragedy of Duscur occurred, and when his brother sacrificed his life and his title for the young king.

Whatever was bubbling up in Felix’s mind was too overwhelming, and he slammed his face against Sylvain’s shoulder. His body slowly became lax, as though all of the built-up tension from their argument was seeping away through his skin. “...I thought...drinking was supposed to _ numb _ your feelings.” He mumbled against the other man.

“Not for everyone,” Sylvain laughed gently, allowing his fingers to gently slide free from Felix’s own. “But I’d be lying if I said it wasn't one of the reasons I enjoy these celebrations so much.”

“Well, it’s another reason for me to hate them, now that I know what getting absolutely pissed feels like,” Felix scoffed, though the telltale crack in his voice told Sylvain just how close he was to breaking point.

Instinctively, Sylvain gently placed a hand over Felix’s head. He felt him flinch slightly beneath the touch, but he didn’t protest. Sylvain ever so carefully ran his fingers through the tangled blue mane, not really sure how else to be comforting in this moment. He was used to girls crying on his shoulders, but not another man – and _ definitely _not Felix.

The redhead could feel gloved hands gripping a little tighter at the fabric of his belt; the hardness of bone as Felix pressed his chin further into Sylvain’s body...Was this weird? This was definitely weird. It made him feel a strange fluttering in the pit of his stomach, and he had to reassure himself that it was just the alcohol – of course it was the alcohol.

With a loud sniff, Felix finally leaned back from the knight’s chest. He rubbed at his face, hairs stuck there by the wetness of tears, and avoided making eye contact. “Just...pretend you didn’t see me like this. Okay?” Despite moving away, his hand still grasped at Sylvain’s waist needily.

With his hair untied, it was startling how delicate Felix looked – Sylvain felt more aware than ever of how much he dwarfed him in stature. And, seeing him finally break down, Sylvain’s first impulse was to treat him how he would any of his girlfriends. After all, if Felix _ were _ a girl, he’d be so much easier to comfort. Girls were soft, affectionate – everything the swordsman wasn’t. In that situation, he’d simply lean in with a chaste kiss to calm her down. Or at least, that was the thought running through Sylvain’s head, as his lips slid forward on auto-pilot to meet with the drunken Fraldarian’s.

“...Ah.” Sylvain balked. “I, uh–didn–”

Before the redhead could fumble out anything more, a powerful slap collided with his cheek. A prickle of heat bloomed at the site, leaving a clear, palm-shaped imprint behind.

“...W–what the fuck was that?” Felix stuttered, his expression a mixture of outrage and perplexion. “Are you too drunk to distinguish me from one of your girlfriends now?”

“I don’t...Maybe? I’m so sorry,” Sylvain raised his hands in submission. “I was thinking of how I’d normally comfort a girl and...and maybe I _ did _drink too muc–”

Sylvain didn’t get to finish his sentence, however, as the same pair of lips suddenly crashed back into his own. Felix’s movements were aggressive, the taste of liquor thick on his breath. But Sylvain found himself leaning into the kiss, greedily sliding forward with each rhythmic ebb and flow. Soft moans trickled from Felix like honey, sweet and rich, leaving Sylvain wanting more. His blood was boiling with lust, with hunger – and with booze. The swordsman’s hands were all over his cheeks. Neck. Waist. They slid lower and lower as his tongue continued to probe Felix’s mouth, his own hands lacing through the man’s cascading blue locks.

_ What...am I doing_? Sylvain pondered, pressing his lips harder against Felix’s. He’d never felt this way about the Fraldarian before – never felt it about anyone, thinking about it. The women he’d kissed, that he’d held...those were little more than empty charades. But this? Sylvain didn’t know _ what _to call it.

...But he didn’t want it to stop.


	2. Evanescent

“Urghh…” Sylvain groaned feebly, the force of a thousand drums pounding against the back of his skull. Even through his eyelids, he could tell that the room was too bright; too blinding. Not to mention that every inch of his body ached, and it didn’t help that his mattress felt rock-hard and sandy beneath him.

_ Wait...sandy?  _ His consciousness perking up, Sylvain shifted the weight of his hands slowly, running them over the surface beneath him. It was the telltale smoothness of concrete, covered in dirt, dust, and pieces of hay that stuck to his skin.

...That...wasn’t right either. Sylvain’s hands leapt to his chest, scrambling in confusion for a shirt that wasn’t there. His eyes cracked open, and the knight squinted uncomfortably as his gaze panned over the ceiling. With his returning lucidity, he was able to recognise the castle training grounds. He distantly recalled being there last night...and his hangover confirmed that he’d gotten pretty drunk during that time.

Sylvain heaved himself upright, blearily rubbing at his face. It was clammy with dried sweat, and coated with another kind of stickiness he assumed to be wine that didn’t quite make it to his mouth. He’d been drinking over a bet – there was always a bet involved when he ended up like this. It was...it was with Felix, of all people. He vaguely remembered that Ingrid made him go talk to the swordsman about something. They were duelling, and drinking. It was hard for Sylvain to recall the specifics. Then Felix got upset about something, maybe? And that was when he…

... _ Oh.  _ Sylvain’s fingers hovered nervously over his lips. That was when he kissed him.

“Shit... _ Shit! _ ” He hissed, frantically spinning around in search of the blue-haired man. He looked to his left, finding Felix face-down and fast asleep – at least for the moment. The Frandarian’s hair was a matted ball, furled so dramatically that it seemed to reject the laws of gravity. His shirt was still on, but only barely; shucked up tightly under his armpits to expose the smooth expanse of his shoulder blades. Sylvain couldn’t remember much after they’d kissed...just  _ how  _ far had things gone last night? 

The redhead jerked backwards, attempting to distance himself from the sight. However, the action caused him to wince painfully, and he grasped at his left thigh. He could feel little pricks beneath his fingertips, surmising he’d managed to fall asleep on a cluster of shattered glass. He pinched at one of the shards, yanking it out of his leg to confirm it.

“Fan...fucking...tastic,” he panted, tossing the green fragment away. Sylvain limped to his feet, his body protesting with every slight movement. He hobbled across the room, retrieving his scattered garments. With a struggle, he managed to button up his shirt, though he didn’t particularly care whether it aligned with the right holes. His armour plates were a lost cause in his current state, so he tucked them under his arm to carry. Each accidental clank was like a mallet crashing into his eardrums, his hangover leaving him vulnerable to even the slightest of noises.

He felt bad leaving a half-naked Felix passed out alone on the floor, but Sylvain was far too busy pretending that last night didn’t happen to concern himself. Felix was his friend –  _ his friend! _ Sure, he could be pretty impulsive after a few bottles of liquor, but he knew he couldn’t blame everything that happened on his own drunkenness. Or at least, what he assumed had happened – his brows knitted trying desperately to recount last night’s events.

Making his way to the training ground entrance, Sylvain carefully cracked open the heavy wooden door. He poked his head out, screwing up his nose at the harsh sunlight, and scanned the walkway to see whether anyone was around. Luckily, it appeared that the entire courtyard was empty – based on the time, everyone was probably going about their own business prior to breakfast. This meant that if Sylvain was stealthy enough, he could probably make it back to his quarters, get changed, and meet up in the dining hall without raising any suspicion. Furthermore, Felix skipping breakfast wasn’t unusual, so his absence wouldn’t be questioned.

Sylvain crept through the doorway, quietly shutting the door behind him. He bounced the armor plates in his arms, adjusting his grip, and began walking towards his room. Having spent much of his childhood wandering the old castle, he was familiar with the less-traversed walkways and passages, making it easier for him to avoid any risk of crossing paths with anyone. Despite this, Sylvain was still slowed down by the throbbing ache in his thigh, and he had to keep his teeth clenched to ensure no pained grunts accidentally escaped him.

Unlike the dormitories back at the monastery, Sylvain had a room on the ground floor in Fhirdiad, for which he was immensely thankful right now. He hobbled up the handful of steps, fumbling with the doorknob thanks to his occupied hands. However, he could feel one of the armor plates slipping from under his elbow. Sylvain tried to rearrange his hold, but that only set off a chain reaction – the entire metal suit clattered thunderously to the floor, echoing at such a volume that the birds in the courtyard all scattered from their treetop perches.

The Gautian crouched to his knees, holding his head in agony. He’d have been more concerned about someone catching him, were it not for the splitting headache that felt like his skull was about to explode. By some miracle, nobody came to inspect the commotion, even as he sat there for several minutes trying to regain his composure. Sylvain eventually removed the fingers from his temples, wearily allowing his eyes to slide back open. He sucked in a few haggard breaths, reminding himself that his pride was on the line for every minute he continued to linger outside. He still wasn’t quite ready to stand up however, and remained on his knees as he reached once again for his door, managing to open it with a stiff shove. A puff of dust cascaded from the wooden beams, settling over both the carpet and the redhead.

Sylvain coughed loudly, leveraging himself up against the doorframe. He used his foot to scrape the scattered pieces of armor inside the room, then quickly shut himself inside. It took every bit of his willpower to lumber forward, taking only a few steps before allowing his weight to fall forward onto his bed. The knight was pleased that the mattresses were still as soft and luxurious as he remembered, nuzzling his face further into the sheets with delight. Ordinarily, he’d have convinced himself to spend the whole day there, allowing the foul aftermath of his drunken night to pass peacefully. Unfortunately, the incessant throbbing of his leg wouldn’t allow it – the shards of glass seemed to twitch with each breath, as if to spite him.

“Urgh...guess I’ll be at breakfast after all,” Sylvain mumbled into his pillow. Mercedes would be the best person to patch him up, and there was no question she’d be in the dining hall this morning. Between the pancakes, muffins and pastries, it was hard to guess which sweet treat was her favourite, but Sylvain knew that the healer wouldn’t dare miss out on any of them.

Sucking in deeply, Sylvain pushed himself upright, allowing his feet to slide tiredly to the floor. He shifted his balance backwards until he was finally standing again, although he immediately regretted parting with the comfort of his bed. Reaching beneath it, he pulled out a large tan bag – since they’d only taken the castle last night, he hadn’t had a chance yet to unpack his belongings. Sylvain rummaged inside, pulling out a clean shirt and trousers to change into. Kicking off his boots, he shucked his tattered pants down to his ankles, stepping out of them and tossing them into a corner. He rubbed a hand down the back of his thigh, which was sticky with dried blood, feeling out the number of fragments embedded there.

_ That’s gotta be at least half a bottle’s worth of glass _ , he groaned to himself. Sylvain dug his nails around one of the shards, gritting his teeth as he removed it with a swift yank. A loud curse sputtered from his lips, his skin apparently hyper-sensitive in his current state. The knight could feel warm liquid oozing from the back of his leg, and span his head awkwardly to assess the damage.

Disregarding the old bloodstains, the tiny wound was making more of a mess than it had any right to. Sylvain pushed a fingertip against the gaping hole, but it did little to quell the dribbles of red that leaked down his calf and onto the carpet, only barely missing his clean trousers. With his free hand, he held up the extracted piece of glass, confounded by the fact that it was at least half the size he’d expected.

“All that blood from this tiny little sliver?” He grumbled. “Maybe I’d better leave pulling those out for Mercedes, too.” Sylvain retrieved his old pants, tearing off a strip of the stained fabric – if they were ruined anyway, at least he could find another use for them. He blotted at the wound until it stopped bleeding so heavily, and then used another piece of material to loosely wrap his thigh. This would at least protect his new trousers, and keep the remaining shards firmly in place for the time being.

With his leg bandaged up, Sylvain put on his clean clothes. He ran his fingers through his sleep-tousled locks, detangling them as best as he could, and used a spit-covered thumb to scrub off any remaining dirt from his face. It sure wasn’t perfect, but it was about as good as he was going to get today. He could only pray that someone else got equally sloppy at last night’s celebration, though he was rather skeptical – excluding Felix, of course.

Feeling as ready as he’d ever be, Sylvain left the dormitory. The ache of his leg was only worsening, so he was perfectly happy to walk the quickest route possible to his destination, even if that meant passing a few people on the way. Still, he was hoping that his weary expression conveyed a strong enough message of ‘please don’t talk to me’.

“Ah, good morning, Sylvain!” Ashe chirped, a little too cheerfully for the redhead’s liking. Of course he was asking for too much, expecting he wouldn’t be intercepted.

“Yeah...Hey to you, too,” Sylvain responded, without stopping his slow walk towards the dining hall.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it? I’m amazed that the castle gardens have been so well maintained, all things considered.”

“Mm-hmm.” He struggled to move a bit faster.

“Oh, you’re limping!” Ashe noticed, pointing at Sylvain’s boot. “Was it...were you injured in yesterday’s battle? You really shouldn’t be walki–”

“Nah, nothing that serious,” Sylvain shook his head dismissively. “I just rolled my ankle on the stairs last night, no big deal. I was just going to ask Mercedes to have a look at it, actually.”

“Let me at least help you then.” Moving to Sylvain’s side in a flash, Ashe had already looped an arm around the knight’s waist before he could object. “There we go. Isn’t that easier?”

Sylvain hummed relentingly – he supposed it was actually a bit less painful with the archer supporting him.

“This is actually my first time in Fhirdiad, you know,” Ashe mused, continuing their stroll towards the dining hall. “I can see why it’s the Capital. Lit up like it was last night? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a city that beautiful.”

“No offense Ashe, but I get the feeling you haven’t been to too many noble celebrations before, have you? That was...it was nothing compared to the festivities that used to happen. Not just in Fhirdiad, but in Gautier, Fraldarius, you name it.”

Ashe paused, seeming to contemplate something for a short while. “If that’s true, then I hope to see such revelry once the war is over. Lord Lonato wasn’t much for parties, so I guess I wasn’t exposed to it much, but I’d love to see Castle Gaspard filled with dancing, and music, and food…” His eyes seemed to sparkle as he lost himself in thought.

At the mention of food, Sylvain’s stomach grumbled loudly. He hadn’t even noticed how hungry he was, but in hindsight, he really hadn’t eaten a proper meal since yesterday’s lunch. “Oof, sorry. To be honest, I barely managed to fit a bite in last night.”

“Whaaaat?!” Ashe gasped. “But everything was so  _ delicious!  _ You definitely missed out...Well, unless it was standard noble party food. I might not be the best judge,” he chuckled. The archer’s hand reached forward, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind his ear. “Come to think of it though, I didn’t see much of you at all last night.”

“R-really? I was definitely...around…” A nervous sweat pricked up from Sylvain’s forehead. “It was a big hall, it’s not that surprising we didn’t cross paths.”

“I don’t know about tha–  _ A-HA! _ ” A sharp finger jabbed at Sylvain’s neck. “A hickey! You have a hickey!”

“What? Where?!” The Gautian’s hand frantically clapped at the spot, as if hoping he’d somehow be able to feel it.

“I guess that’s really what I should have expected...of course you wouldn’t waste an opportunity like that to be off courting women,” Ashe laughed. “Some things never change, huh?”

“Heh, they sure don’t…” Sylvain returned the laugh nervously, still rubbing at the mark he now knew was there. If only Ashe really understood just how much things  _ had _ changed. 

That being said, the only reason it was harmless for Ashe to know about the hickey was because he didn’t know what Sylvain had been up to that night. Ingrid, on the other hand, knew quite precisely where he’d been, and who he was with. The knight tugged at his collar anxiously, trying to conceal the mark as much as possible from any other prying eyes.

Before the anxiety building in his gut could progress any further, Sylvain felt a hard slap against his back. “Well anyway, that was a nice walk!”

He realised they’d finally reached the dining hall, the smell of fresh bread and roasting coffee beans wafting through the air. Ashe held the door open, and the redhead strolled forward on his own. Although he was quite hungry, after the archer’s comments, Sylvain’s more pressing priority was to eliminate any and all signs of the previous evening as quickly as possible.

He gave Ashe a quick smile before parting ways, craning his neck to try and spot Mercedes in the crowded room. He weaved around the long wooden tables, scooping up a blueberry danish on his way past, before finally spying the top of a brown beret amongst the chaos. 

“M-rthed-sth!” Sylvain shouted around a mouthful of pastry crumbs.

“Did...someone just call for me?” A familiar voice yelled back.

The knight moved closer, finally reaching Mercedes’s seat. She and Annette appeared to be in the midst of taste-sampling the dining hall’s full range of breakfast sweets – there were half-eaten tarts, croissants, donuts and eclairs taking up the majority of the table.

“That would be me! And hey to you too, Annette.” Sylvain sat opposite the women, carefully kneeling on his left leg to avoid putting pressure on it. “Enjoying your confections?”

“Absolutely!” Mercedes beamed. “It’s been such a long time since we’ve all been able to enjoy such a spread, so I think that makes everything taste twice as delicious.”

“Though you have to question whoever thought to serve these coffee-flavoured rolls,” Annette added with a huff. “Of course I’d think the brown paste would be chocolate! Who would ever expect anything different?”

“I’ll be sure to pass the feedback onto the chef for you,” Sylvain laughed; even during war times, it was always refreshing to know that some of his friends hadn’t changed. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt, but I was kinda hoping to steal you away for a bit, Mercedes. I managed to hurt my leg last night, so I was wondering if you’d mind having a look at it.”

“That’s not good! Of course I’d be happy to. You don’t mind, do you, Annie?”

“Not at all! As delicious as all this food is, I actually promised my dad that I’d help him organise the armory today anyway. He’s probably expecting me about now, so the timing’s perfect.”

“How lovely, then we can head over to the infirmary now if you’d like!” Mercedes chirped at Sylvain.

The redhead nodded, standing up again to follow behind her. “Great! And thanks, Annette.”

“There’s no need for that,” Annette shook her head dismissively. “I just hope you heal up soon!”

Sylvain smiled in appreciation, before following Mercedes out of the dining hall. He was thankful that it wasn’t too far of a walk to the infirmary, the radiating ache of his thigh worsening the more he continued to place weight on it. He must have been scowling, because Mercedes tapped his shoulder gently.

“We’re almost there now,” she said sweetly.

They rounded one last corner, and as promised, arrived at their destination. Mercedes gripped the handle of the door, bumping her shoulder against it a few times, before giving it one final shove that forced the entrance open.

“Sorry about that; this door seems to be a little sticky!” She trotted into the room and approached the examination table, hurriedly removing the clutter piled on top of if. “There was a lot of mess left here from Cornelia’s army, so I’m still in the process of tidying up, too. That should work at least – please, have a seat.”

“Um, before that, it might be best if I just show you.” Sylvain unfastened his pants, tucking his thumb beneath the waistband. He paused self-consciously. “...Sorry, it’s right up around the top of my thigh.” With his cheeks flushed, the knight continued sliding the trousers down to his ankles. He stepped out of them, folding the garment neatly and placing it to one side.

“You don’t have to feel uncomfortable, I’m used to seeing this sort of thing,” Mercedes waved her hand reassuringly. “Here, let me help you.” She rummaged briefly through a tray next to the examination table, before pulling out a thin pair of scissors. The healer approached Sylvain, holding them out towards his bandaged leg. “May I?”

Sylvain nodded, and watched the scissors glide through the tattered fabric with ease. Mercedes’s thin hands carefully unwound each strip, piece by piece, exposing his glass-riddled flesh. 

At the reveal of his injury, a soft gasp escaped the blonde. “...I can see why you didn’t want to sit down.” She returned the scissors, proceeding to adjust the sheets covering the table. “Here, come lay on your stomach then – the first thing will be pulling all of that glass out.”

Following the instruction, Sylvain leaned forward, hoisting himself onto the table’s surface. He propped his hands beneath his chin, watching the healer prepare the necessary supplies. She approached him with a jar of strange creamy-coloured gel, slowly unscrewing the lid. The sudden odour of sour milk and vinegar scorched through his nostrils, causing him to quickly hold a sleeve up to his face.

“Sorry,” Mercedes apologised, noticing Sylvain’s reaction. “It’s quite a strong smell.”

“What is it?” Sylvain kept his nose firmly covered.

“A numbing salve. It means you won’t feel any pain while I’m removing all of  _ this _ ,” she gestured to the porcupine-like shards poking out from his skin. “You might still feel the movement though, which can be a little odd!”

Without warning, she began slathering the gelatinous balm over Sylvain’s thigh, the sudden coldness causing him to jump a little. A slight tingle crept through his nerves, until his entire leg went from fuzzy to non-existent, as far as feeling was concerned. The knight twisted his body around, warily prodding the skin with a finger. He pushed harder, even digging in his nail a little, and still couldn’t sense even the slightest force. “Huh. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Mercedes chuckled. “Don’t worry; it’ll wear off pretty quickly once we’re done.” She picked up a pair of thin metal tweezers from the bedside tray, wiping them with a clean cloth. She then pushed lightly against Sylvain’s shoulder, urging him to turn around so that she could begin.

The knight did what he was told, resting his head back against his palms. A few moments later, however, he felt a strange pressure against his leg. He peeked over his shoulder, witnessing Mercedes tweezers-deep in the meat of his thigh. As she’d described, Sylvain could feel a strange shifting sensation deep within his muscles, but there was no pain to speak of – even when he was staring right at his own gored flesh.

He continued watching as Mercedes wrenched out a particularly large fragment. She held up the blood-drenched glass to the light for a few moments, before dropping it into a small metal dish by the table.

“...Is that a bedpan?”

“It’s multi-purpose,” the healer corrected, plucking another shard from his thigh and dropping it into the tray. “This is an awful lot of glass. How on earth did this all manage to make it into your leg?”

“Well, it turns out that Cornelia’s army was using the training grounds as their personal wine cellar. The whole place is packed with bottles.” Sylvain shrugged, turning around to face forward again. Lying down for so long was starting to make him feel rather sleepy.

“Really? I would have expected you to spend most of your night in the main hall, what with so many of the Fhirdiad women in attendance. What were you doing over by the training grounds?”

_ ...Ah _ . That wasn’t something that Sylvain had meant to let slip. He remained silent for a few moments, listening to the soft rattle of glass as it was dropped into the silver dish by his side. “Well, you know…” He chewed his lip anxiously, searching for the right lie. “One of the girls over by the hourederves table said she’d heard I was the strongest lancer in the King’s army. She wanted to see me in action, so of course I couldn’t refuse. By then I was a little drunk though, so I slipped and fell – that’s how I managed to plant my ass on a mound of glass. Kind of a mood-killer, really.”

“Right…” Mercedes mumbled, not looking up from her work. “You know, Sylvain...I used to always believe that if people didn’t want to tell you something, it was best to let it slide. Not everything is your business, and everyone has the right to keep a few secrets here and there.”

Sylvain gulped; he had a bad feeling about where this was going.

“But then I think back to all the times I was with Dimitri – did you know that we used to sew together?” Her hands seemed to work quicker as she spoke, moving as if in a trance. “For a long time, I could tell that he was hurting. When we spoke, there was a distance to his gaze, as if his mind was always wandering towards something far out of reach. I would ask him about it, encouraging him that it was okay to open up, but he’d just laugh it off and say that everything was fine.”

“And you blame yourself for what he became in the years that followed?” Sylvain interrupted. “That’s ridiculous, Mercedes. Nothing that Dimitri has done was your fault.”

“Yet I still feel a sense of responsibility. If I had been more forceful with my words, maybe I could have prevented Dimitri from falling into such a dark place. If I had reached out, pushed him just a little bit more…” Mercedes’s voice trailed off, and she let out a deep sigh. “That’s why I’m pushing you – because I don’t think you’re being honest with me right now.”

The cold words masked by her usual saccharine tone sent a chill down Sylvain’s spine. “I...don’t know what you’re talking about.” He muttered. “You know what I’m like at parties. What reason would I have to lie about something like that, anyway?”

“I don’t know, guilt? Embarrassment, maybe? I’m not particularly fond of guessing games, Sylvain. I thought we were in a really good place, where we were both comfortable enough to let our guards down around each other. It upsets me that you sti–oh…?” The blonde stopped abruptly. 

Sylvain couldn’t see what she was doing, but he felt the pressure on his thigh halt as well. A ghostly tickle brushed against his other leg, and he twisted around in confusion. “Look, I really think you’re overreactin–”

Mercedes was holding up a strand of long blue hair, sticky from the blood stuck to his leg.

“I see...so that’s what this is about.”

“I–I–I d–don’t…” Sylvain floundered, averting his gaze guiltily. “I don’t know who that belongs to!”   
  
“Oh? You’re not going to claim it’s from the woman you charmed at the training grounds?”   
  
_ Shit. Maybe I should have tried that _ . “No, I...maybe it was from one of Cornelia’s knights, on the floor?”

Mercedes placed the hair next to the glass fragments, resuming her work with a little less patience in each pull. “Why do you not want to admit you met Felix at the training grounds last night? Ordinarily I’d have assumed you both just got drunk and had some kind of dangerous, alcohol-fuelled sword fight, but the fact that you keep lying makes me believe there’s more to the story.”

Disregarding how scarily accurate her guess was, Sylvain ground his teeth. In other words, if he’d been less suspicious in the first place, he might have been able to just play it cool about the whole Felix thing. Dammit, his hangover-brain was really hampering his damage control efforts.

“It’s to do with  _ these _ , isn’t it?” 

Mercedes used the tweezers to tap at the back of Sylvain’s unwounded thigh, the cold metal causing him to flinch slightly. His eyes panned down his body, noticing the dark, circular bruises she was pointing to.  _ More hickeys _ .

“Ugh...Gods…” He dragged a hand down his face, mortified by the telltale marks. Moreover, he couldn’t believe exactly  _ where _ Felix had left them last night – Sylvain worried at the thought of finding any more.

“Hmm, well I guess that answers my question. You and Felix got drunk, fooled around in the training grounds, and then you sat on some glass. Is that about the gist of it?”

Sylvain nodded wordlessly, burying his burning face in his arms.

Mercedes squeezed the redhead’s thigh, drawing out a particularly deep fragment. “Well, you certainly made that needlessly difficult. I find it odd you were happy to share that you were intoxicated enough to fall over and wound yourself, but too embarrassed to admit it was because you were frolicking about with Felix.”

“Because it  _ is _ embarrassing!” Sylvain hissed. “I wish I could wave it away and say it was the alcohol that made me do it, but...I know it wasn’t! I don’t know why I made out with Felix; why I –ugh...why I  _ liked _ it…”

The healer sighed, looking up at Sylvain as she continued to work. “You have no reservations about flaunting your interests in women, so why should Felix be any different?”

“Well, because he’s a man, obviously!”

“And you think that’s shameful, correct?”

“Wait, hold up! I didn’t mean it like that.” Sylvain pinched his forehead in frustration – he was struggling to find the right words. “Listen, I know you’re openly comfortable having relationships with both men and women, Mercedes. Really, that’s great! But I’m not, okay? That’s just not me! I’m a skirt-chaser, a philanderer. And moreover...I’m a noble. I have other reasons to think about who I date.”

“I wonder if that’s really how you feel...or if that’s simply what you believe you’re  _ supposed _ to feel.” Mercedes paused her plucking, holding the tweezers steady above Sylvain’s thigh. “Would you like to know what I think?”

Whether or not he wanted to, the Gautian suspected he was about to find out regardless.

“When you court women, I think you’re going through the motions of what’s expected of you. There may perhaps be sincere feelings here or there, but as history tends to show, things fall apart when you start suspecting ulterior motives – your Crest, your title, the birth of an heir. On the other hand, courting a man has no benefits. That’s especially true for one such as Felix, who already has a title of his own.”

“What’s your point?” Sylvain frowned impatiently.

“My point is that there’s nothing to gain for you in a relationship with Felix. If you were to fall for him regardless...it would only be because you selfishly desired it – desired  _ him _ .” She punctuated the statement with the rattle of glass, dropping another shard into the metal tray. “That’s what I think.”

Sylvain lay deathly still for a while, Mercedes’s words having hit him like a strong punch to the gut. 

_ Do I...have feelings for Felix? _

The redhead’s mouth gaped open dumbly, but his words refused to form. Of course he and Felix were close; they’d known each other their entire lives. But Felix was his  _ friend _ . That’s why they always trained together every day. That’s why he invited Felix out to eat every now and then. And that’s obviously why he promised that they’d stay by each other’s side until they die…

_ ...Shit. I totally have feelings for Felix. _

“Arghhhh!” Sylvain yelled into the table, startling Mercedes with the sudden outburst.

“Goodness! Do you want to lose a chunk of your flesh?” The blonde snapped, the tweezers in her hand clenched tight.

“Sorry,” the knight mumbled. He bit his lip, unwilling to confess his revelation. Maybe if he didn’t say it, he could pretend it wasn’t true.

“It’s alright,” Mercedes replied more calmly. “I may have pried a bit more than I should have.”

“Heh, it’s only because you’re so good at reading me,” Sylvain laughed bitterly. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter what either of us think. At the end of the day, I’m still a noble. I have responsibilities to fulfil – you know, ‘Crest babies’ and all that. And Felix is in the same position.”

“Hmm..I must admit, I don’t envy your nobility. But are you certain that Felix shares your perspective?”

“To be honest, I’m hoping he was blackout-drunk enough to forget the whole incident.”

“I see…” Mercedes hummed wistfully. “Anyway, I think I’ve managed to remove all the glass in your leg. None of the wounds are deep enough to cause too much trouble, so a vulnerary should do the trick.”

The healer reached into her apron, procuring a small glass vial. She removed the cork, and gently tipped the tonic over Sylvain’s thigh. The numbing salve prevented him from feeling much, but he could smell the mentholic liquid as it was rubbed vigorously into his skin. Mercedes then bent down, retrieving a roll of gauze from one of the drawers beside the examination table. She hoisted the redhead’s leg up, sliding the length of bandage beneath and coiling it around in quick circles. Sylvain could feel the compression increasing with each loop, and his limb felt noticeably heavier by the time Mercedes was finished.

“Alright, you should be good to go. Does that feel comfortable?” She lightly patted the knight’s back, signaling for him to sit upright.

Sylvain swung his legs over the side of the table, easing his weight carefully onto the ground. He didn’t feel any pain with the action, so he gave Mercedes a reassuring nod.

“Lovely, you should be fine then to put these on.” She handed over his trousers. “I’ll also give you a few vulneraries to take with you – I recommend applying them twice a day until the wounds close, and then once a day for another week to reduce scarring.”

“Thanks,” Sylvain smiled, stepping into his pant leg.

“You’re very welcome,” Mercedes beamed, although her expression quickly drooped. She paused thoughtfully, before gently running her hand across Sylvain’s shoulder. “Just so you know, we don’t have to speak again about any of this – I know your love affairs certainly aren’t any of my business. But, however you choose to act on what happened...I just hope you’ll be more considerate than you are with the many women you string along. Felix likes to act as though he’s impervious to his own feelings, but he’s sensitive too, deep down.”

“Of course.” Sylvain gave a hollow smile, excusing himself as he left the infirmary.

He walked slowly down the hallway, letting Mercedes’s words sink in a little deeper. After Felix’s outburst last night, Sylvain had no question of his vulnerability – considering Rodrigue’s death, it wasn’t surprising that he was a little more emotional. With this, plus all the alcohol they’d consumed, it was safe to conclude that last night was just Felix’s way of seeking comfort. It didn’t  _ mean _ anything.

Sylvain didn’t want to complicate things between them, so he figured that the best way to avoid hurting the Fraldarian would be to hide that it ever happened – hopefully Felix’s memory wouldn’t hinder that plan. But as for his own well-being, Sylvain’s memory wasn’t quite so easy to wipe. It would be hard for him to forget the feeling of hands ghosting over his body, the smell of those familiar blue locks, the sting of each new hickey trailed across his skin.

Hardest of all, however, would be how  _ good _ Felix’s lips felt on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, am I accidentally re-writing the general plot of my last fic? Maybe, ugh. :') In my defence, what this really means is that I need to NOT write two fics with the same 'relationship status' because I can't help but feel I'm stagnating. Anyway, I AM attempting to take this places, I do swear haha.
> 
> Also, please feel free to let me know how the general flow/grammar is, since this hasn't been proofread by my usual beta reader! They have zero context on the pairing, so I felt guilty making them read my chapters - therefore, I'm just gonna be self-editing the rest of these, probably! That being said, I am totally not re-reading this right now before I post it because I was at work today and am Very Tired. I can only hope it's decent enough :U
> 
> Oh I forgot to add but I apologise Mercedes dialogue is...hrghhhhh. I read through her supports and her VA definitely softens a lot of her lines, but in general I’m not entirely happy with some of the segues and what-not. I just...am choosing to accept my mediocre dialogue and move on for the story’s sake. :’’’)
> 
> Anyway, where is Felix? He will returrrrnnnnn! (because duh, it's a Sylvix fic)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back from the dead yo yo
> 
> Jokes aside, I've been missing writing SOMETHING but kinda fell out of Voltron after _that_ ending and then suddenly didn't have a pairing I was interested in writing. Thank you Fire Emblem for the blessing of what is essentially about 80% the same pairing, in other words my kinda shit!!!!!
> 
> Trying a less story-heavy approach (though there will still be pieces of narrative here and there) so that I hopefully don't exhaust myself like last time and forget to wrap things up in a realistic timeframe. Please definitely give me your thoughts – I definitely worry that there's not enough substance so I'd love feedback on how well I'm hitting that balance! :U


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